


Scratch

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He's unnerved before he even sets a foot into the store. It's just too much of a cliché, with the herbs, and the weird symbols, and the books that are far from the average romance novel." Watch Sammy dive deep into her storage of heavy crack. :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratch

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers. (I think we can safely discount the fact that it fits nicely into the general feel of the last few episodes of season nine.) 
> 
> You should be aware that this is crack!fiction, though. Like, total, utter crack, born out of one of those weird things my brain stumbles over and then turns into a story, since nobody else seemed to be willing -- you'll find a copy of what prompted this at the end, and I think you'll agree with me that it was simply too good to pass up. ;) It will still work out nicely to amuse you if you allow some room for a certain... supernatural thingamabob. _Engaging willing suspension of disbelief in 3... 2... 1..._
> 
> Enjoy. ;)

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have pissed the guy off then," he offers with a shrug and ignores the angry hiss Ziva gives him. "I'm just saying, sweetheart."

The hiss turns into a low growl that makes Tony's skin crawl a little. Then he hears the telltale sound of her worrying the upholstery, and he glares at her sideways. "Ruin the seats and you'll pay for them."

Her eyes narrow while she deathglares back, and for a second it looks as if she wants to throw up all over his seats, just to spite him.

*** *** ***

He's unnerved before he even sets a foot into the store. It's just too much of a cliché, with the herbs, and the weird symbols, and the books that are far from the average romance novel. And he doesn't deal too well with the concept in general. He's bad enough with regular religion, but anything that involves curses and crystals and lighting candles that aren't pristine white makes him uncomfortable on a whole new level. It also leaves him rolling his eyes a lot because it's just too... out there. So yes, usually he ends up slipping in a truckload of sarcastic remarks. He's learned his lesson, though, and while he holds the door open for Ziva he reminds himself to treat this as professionally as possible. She turns her head as she slips in, and there's yet another mini-glare, as if she wants to remind him of the very same thing.

His nose itches as soon as he crosses the threshold. It's all the incense in here, he's pretty sure about that. It's no good for a DiNozzo nose. They're not made to sniff patchouli. 

"Can I help you?"

He jumps a little at the softly voiced question, but manages to cover it up before he turns around. For a heartbeat he's tempted to use one of his smiles that always soften up the girls. This doesn't seem like a good time for it, though. And he knows Ziva wouldn't appreciate it. _Professional, DiNozzo. Come on, you can do that._

"I'm Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS," he says and flips his badge. The shopkeeper who barely reaches his shoulders steps out of the shadows of shelves that are stuffed to the brim with strange goods, and no, he really doesn't want to think too hard about what exactly she sells here. He smiles at her after all because it tones down his own nervousness. The woman doesn't react, though. She just cocks her head and looks back and forth between his badge and his expression. For a moment he's terribly confused because she seems so incredibly... normal. Jeans and a purple sweater. Ash blonde hair that's pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. Chewing gum.

It's not really what he expected in an occult shop.

He clears his throat, puts his badge away and then gestures to the side. "This is my partner, former Special Agent Ziva David."

The tiny woman blinks, then lets her gaze follow his awkward pointing. Blinks. Looks back at him to see if he's serious or just messing with her. Her eyes snap back to the dark cat at his side, who nervously swishes her tail. Blue eyes widen minutely.

"Oh my," she finally says.

Ziva rolls her eyes and starts to lick her paw.

*** *** ***

_Earlier that day..._

Abby blinks and stares at him for a minor eternity before her eyes narrow. And yeah, Tony doesn't like to admit it, but he gets more and more uncomfortable with each second that ticks away. She glances at the cat when it shifts in his arms, then back at his face, locking him into a staring contest while he squirms and tries to juggle the suddenly restless cat. He knows better than to tell Ziva she's getting a little heavy there. (He learned his lesson earlier, when she demonstrated quite forcefully that -- cat or not -- she still understands every word of his perfectly.) He doesn't really get why she insists on being carried around, though. She has perfectly fine legs -- four of them now, actually, so prowling through the corridors should be--

He realizes with a start that he missed the finishing touches of Abby's chiding stare, and when she suddenly gets in his face, brows furrowed and bottom lip stuck out in a semi-pout, he fights the urge to step back.

"I do not appreciate people making fun of me, Tony," she states and stabs her index finger into his chest, just when Ziva finally managed to get comfortable again.

"Abby, I'm not--"

She doesn't even listen because her eyes suddenly zoom in on the furry version of his partner; they narrow even more while she interrupts him. "Did you _dye_ this cat to have Ziva's highlights?"

Her voice is stuck somewhere between intrigued, disgusted, and scolding, and Tony fights the urge to rub the tight spot between his eyebrows. He hasn't said this often in his life, but right now he can definitely feel a headache coming up.

"He's not pulling your leg, Abbs." Gibbs's voice is as firm and calm as it always is, but Abby still whirls around and stares at him, eyes suddenly wide and shocked.

_"You_ are in on this, too? Not funny, Gibbs!" There's something close to outrage in her voice, and Tony grimaces. Frankly, he didn't expect things to go over this badly -- not with Abby and her usual open-mindedness.

"Pull up the video footage from interrogation," he says instead of a direct answer. "From ten-thirteen this morning to maybe nine or ten minutes after."

Her frown goes back into place, hard and fast, but even while she sticks out her lower lip a little more, there's something else in her expression. Something that says she's intrigued now and she wants to find out how far they will take this practical joke.

Tony relaxes a little when her attention shifts away from the men and towards her computer. Thank god... no, thank Vance for video surveillance. They can actually prove they're not just messing with her this time.

Abby pulls up the video feed and fast forwards right into the part where Ziva grabs the Irish guy's lapel and drags him halfway across the table. Tony can't see Gibbs in the corner from this camera angle, but he remembers the distinct smirk of approval on Jethro's face when she'd done that.

One thing is clearly enhanced by the camera angle, though, and that's Tony's view of video-Ziva's butt. He can't help it, really, he's suddenly more than distracted while she leans over the table and her cargos stretch enticingly. And then he flinches and almost drops cat-Ziva when she mews loudly at him and gives him a yellow-eyed glare.

"Sorry," he mouthes. Her eyes narrow in response, and he tries to pretend that his attention is on the screen for solely investigative reasons. From the way her paws flex against his arm he can tell she doesn't believe it for a second.

The video reaches the point where Ziva starts shouting at the suspect, and yeah, for a heartbeat Tony feels guilty because he thinks she's insanely hot when she's like that. (Not that he'd ever say that out loud, of course. He has _some_ sense of self-preservation left, after all.)

The guy she yells at remains blissfully unimpressed, even when she calls him a pretty nasty name in Hebrew. (Tony doesn't know much Hebrew, granted, but that particular word is kinda... distinctive. And he probably could have guessed it anyway, even if Liat hadn't taught it to him.) Irish guy probably figured out the meaning, too, because he leans back in his seat now, crosses his arms and eyes Ziva up while his mouth twists into a sly grin.

"My, my. You're a regular bitch, aren't you?"

Cat-Ziva gets angry along with her recorded counterpart. Her fur bristles in annoyance while they watch screen-Ziva get deceptively calm all of a sudden.

"I'm more of a cat person, really," she says, and current-time Tony can't help the groan as he watches her stalk out of interrogation stiffly, directly followed by Gibbs.

"Now the hall," the Boss instructs Abby, and she hits a few keys and switches to the camera that shows Ziva storm down the corridor leading back to the squad room. They only see a few steps of that, though, because suddenly the image flares up into white noise. It's gone again as fast as it showed up, and Abby blinks because now the video shows just a pile of clothes on the floor where Ziva stood mere seconds ago. 

The dark, almost black head of a cat slowly emerges out of what looks like a cream-colored blouse, and not only screen-Gibbs stares at it openmouthed. Abby's eyebrows shoot up high in disbelief, and her eyes are suddenly so wide that she reminds Tony of countless horror movie posters of the fifties and sixties, with the heroine gawking in shocked disbelief at the alien coming to get her.

"McGee," she mumbles. "He helped you with the visual effects, right?"

Gibbs sighs and shakes his head. "No effects, Abby. This is real." He raises a hand to rub his tired eyes while Abby keeps replaying the phoof moment, going through it frame by frame. It doesn't help, though, the crucial moment stays in white-out, and after a few more seconds Gibbs touches her elbow and says, "Go back to the interrogation room. When Ziva walks out."

She blinks and stares at him, still wide-eyed, but for other reasons than disbelief now. Then she forces herself back into mystery-unravel-mode and does what he asks of her.

"There." Gibbs suddenly points at the screen and their suspect, who watches Ziva's back with a weirdly intense look on his face. He whispers something, slowly, carefully, and out of reflex they all shuffle closer to the screen, even though only one of them knows how to lip-read. "Can you make that out, Abbs?"

She's frowning again, but this time it's because she's concentrating hard. "That's not English," she murmurs, then rewinds and zooms in on his mouth. Her own lips move along with his, as if she's trying to figure out what sounds he makes by copying him.

And it's all so weirdly familiar. Their own version of domestic -- the ritual steps of uncovering the mysteries of a case. If it weren't for the restless cat in his arms, Tony would have called it any other day at the office.

It takes Abby a few tries, but eventually she comes up with something that looks like total gibberish. She claims it's pretty close to what he said, though, and so Gibbs tells her to send it to McGee so the Probie can let his inner code cracker off the leash. Then he delivers his traditional thank-you peck to her cheek, but for the first time since Tony has been introduced to this particular ritual, Abby is too distracted to even notice it.

Gibbs sighs and rubs his forehead. "Abby. Run some tests on her. Check if she's okay."

That works, at least, and she finally tears her eyes from the cat. Tony can tell it still takes a big effort, but her brain is finally starting to clock overtime.

"And me, Boss?"

"You? You keep her entertained, DiNozzo. I don't want my agent chewing on the carpet. Ain't that right, girl?" Gibbs smiles while he leans disconcertingly close, and Tony draws back warily, but Gibbs merely reaches out to scratch Ziva's neck. It doesn't take long until she rolls her head and pushes it into his palm with a contented purr, and Gibbs laughs and finally storms out of the lab, leaving a Tony who is torn between confusion and annoyance.

"You would have ripped _me_ a new one for that line," he states accusingly and glares down at his partner. Ziva, still rumbling softly, just tilts her head back and looks at him with an expression that is decidedly smug.

"Okay, let's start with some blood tests." Ziva's head whips around when she hears the snap of gloves that shows Abby's scientific side has taken over. Furry ears tilt back slowly. She's so obviously not in the mood to have her blood taken that Abby's eyes instantly widen and she falls into what Tony always calls her reassuring 'poor creature' mode. Her voice melts into a soft coo, and she does her best to look as harmless and non-threatening as possible. "Aww, don't worry, Ziva! They can be fun!"

Ziva hisses, and Tony doesn't really need a dictionary to translate that.

*** *** ***

"I don't understand!" Tony jumps when Abby's head literally hits her desk. He'd been on the verge of nodding off, but the frustration in her voice rapidly jerks him back to attentiveness. "It's all... _normal."_

He blinks and waits for her to elaborate, but for once her usual science-heavy explanation doesn't follow. "Well, that's good, isn't it?" he offers tentatively.

It isn't, apparently, because Abby's head shoots up and she glares at him. "Well, it _would_ be good if we were talking about a normal human being."

He blinks, slowly, and waits for the long version because he doesn't get it on his own. Ziva's either right there with him or she's bored in general because she starts to twist and stretch all over his lap. (He'd be willing to swear she's doing all of that on purpose, with the sly looks she's giving him and the way she demands more petting whenever his attention drifts away from scratching her. She's really milking this for all it's worth.)

Abby throws her hands up in despair when Tony doesn't show any signs of comprehension. "Look, I draw her blood, and it looks and tests just like human blood. And what she's been shedding all over you isn't cat hair either. It looks perfectly human. I'm still waiting for the DNA results, but I don't think they'll be any different from regular Ziva, too." She starts pacing furiously, and there's so much frustration in her movements that Tony feels sympathetic for a moment. Being scientifically cockblocked is not something Abby enjoys. "I just don't understand how this is even possible!"

He shrugs and does his usual thing, where he offers the first thing that comes to his skittering mind. "Maybe it's not real and we're all just imagining it."

"Mass hallucination!" Abby yelps and twirls around to look at him with wide, excited eyes. Then her thinking frown comes back, and she points a slim index at him. "But how do you explain the video footage?"

Tony's mouth opens while he raises his hands defensively. He's just about to explain that he would never dare come between her and reason when Gibbs strides back into the lab and mutters, "It's a curse."

And it's weird, really. Tony has seen Abby in a lot of situations throughout the years, some of them hilarious, some emotional, occasionally dangerous, and even some that had a sprinkling of sexy on the side. He can't remember a single time where he's actually seen her speechless.

But yeah, he kinda gets it. His own expression probably looks just as dumbfounded because these words, coming from the mouth of no-nonsense incarnate...

Gibbs, on the other hand, doesn't miss a beat and acts like he commented on any old clue in their morning routine. "McGee thinks it's Romanian. And guess whose grandmother was of the traveling folk."

"Oh. Oh, that makes sense," Abby says and purses her lips. "But how do we counter a curse? I've never had to deal with that."

Tony blinks and turns his head to stare at her. In theory, having his former partner turn into a kittycat should have been a much harder blow to his perception of reality, he knows that. For some reason it was never the thing that rattled the confines of his sanity, though. But Gibbs and, more importantly, Abby treating this whole issue so casually all of a sudden and slipping back into investigative mood when the topic is as far from scientific as curses can get... that's what flips the switch for him and leaves him wondering if he's maybe just trapped in a really bizarre dream. (If it is one and if he's lucky, he's gonna find himself without clothes in a second.)

"Good question. Don't you have any of your witchcraft buddies online?"

"I don't ha-- they're Wiccan, Gibbs. Major difference. Common misconception, though."

"I don't care what they call themselves, Abbs. Go find one who can help us out with our kitty agent."

"Maybe a vet?" Tony muses. Ziva stops the lascivious stretching in his lap. Her paws tread against his arm while she turns her head to glare at him. When he merely stares back, she meows accusingly, and he sees something like a tiny frown come up on her face. Dammit, he keeps forgetting she's still with them inside the pile of fur.

"No, DiNozzo. Someone who can fix her."

"A... vet...?" he suggests again, and he knows that was a dumb idea when Ziva's claws shred the sleeve of his shirt. "Oh, come on!" he mutters and tries to keep her from doing more damage. "You would have gone for that, too."

Ziva, of course, doesn't reply. But she does look incredibly smug again.

*** *** ***

There's clear frustration in the air when they arrive back after their brief detour to the occult shop.

"Any leads?" Gibbs asks while Tony drops his backpack as though it weighs a ton, and it unsettles him once more just _how_ normal the question sounds, even when the situation is one of the most bizarre he has ever been in. No, scratch that -- without a doubt, this is the epitome of bizarre to him.

"Well, it is a curse." He flops down in his seat with a sigh and rubs his tense neck. "At least she thinks so. She says she's been studying these for years, but has never actually seen one in effect."

Ziva hops onto his desk in a fluid motion that looks just as smooth as her human self usually moves. She taps her paw around gingerly while she's thinking, then she abandons the pretense, stalks across his files and rubs her head against his shoulder. 

He can't really fight the reflex to raise his hand and pet her, really, even though his mind knows all too well it's still Ziva in there. Maybe it's a genetic imprint -- a well-programmed, basic human reaction to a cat craving attention. And even Tony, who never in his whole life wanted or needed a pet, can't help but react to this biological imperative so deeply ingrained in his subconscious. 

At least it's a lot easier to blame these urges on the kitty part of her. He tries his best not to think about how he would react if it were human!Ziva begging for his physical attention like that. (Of course, now that he tries to avoid the thought, it assaults him in excruciating detail.) 

He's not sure he'd stand a chance. Well, maybe a small one. Let's say sheet of paper in a tornado.

"Any solution?" Gibbs's voice is impatient and jerks his mind back into focus hard.

"Nothing immediate. But apparently he didn't put too much power into it, so she thinks there's a good chance it's only temporary."

_"Thinks?"_

For a heartbeat he's silent, then he sighs and rubs his eyes. "It's magic, Boss. It's not that simple."

The words hang between them heavily, and for a heartbeat Tony wonders just when exactly his life had taken this turn into the bizarre. "What does Mr. Spell-Thrower have to say?" When Jethro doesn't reply, Tony cocks his head and watches him curiously. "You _did_ yell at him about this mess, right?"

"He doesn't talk," Gibbs presses out through his teeth. "Claims he has no idea what we're talking about. Wants to inform his lawyer about 'what kind of nonsense operation' we're running here." Ziva stops rubbing her head against Tony for a second and stares at Gibbs. She meows, loudly, complaining very obviously, and Gibbs sighs. Something softens in his gaze, and he leans down to bump foreheads with her. "I know, kiddo."

He scratches her chin, and Tony isn't quite sure whom Gibbs really wants to calm down with that gesture -- the Israeli or himself. "Take her home, Tony. There's nothing we can do. At least not tonight." He stares down at Ziva, who leans hard against his petting hand now, soaking up all the affection she can get. "Maybe Abby's friend is right and she's back to normal soon."

"And if not?"

Another sigh. "Then we'll figure something out. Right, girl?"

Ziva meows in response, but for some reason she doesn't sound all that confident.

*** *** ***

She starts snooping around in his apartment the second she sets a paw into it. She's been here before, of course, but she's never been quite as intrusive before, and so Tony watches her speechlessly while she comes precariously close to sniffing through his underwear. He's not entirely sure if it's the cat part that demands this instant seizing of a new territory or if she's just using that as an excuse to be nosy.

He leaves her to it after a while to slip out of his suit. (If she stumbles over something she doesn't like, it'll be her own fault after all.) She complains loudly when he closes the bedroom door right in her face, and he snorts and says, "Yeah, right. I'm not letting you watch, Ziva!" She meows and sounds vaguely annoyed. "Forget it, ninja. No kittens in my bedroom!"

If he interprets her expression correctly when he gets back out, she's pouting. Hard.

*** *** ***

She joins him in the kitchen while he's busy opening a can of cat food. She's wearing a smug and vaguely satisfied expression, and he thinks that's because she's now done claiming his place and marking her territory. (God, he hopes she didn't take that thought too far.)

The smugness vanishes instantly when he puts the plate down in front of her, though. Her nose crinkles, and she stares at the attempt at dinner for a second. Then she looks up at him with an expression that easily translates as, _"Are you fucking kidding me?"_

"What?" he says and stares at the label. "It has tuna. And brown rice."

Ziva blinks, turns around and stalks out of the kitchen with her chin going up high. She looks remarkably offended for such a small creature.

Tony watches her tail swish angrily from left to right. Glances at the label again. "But you _like_ tuna," he yells after her, confused.

There's a heaving sound from the bathroom while Ziva leaves him a pretty clear statement of what exactly she thinks of canned tuna.

*** *** ***

He ends up feeding her chicken teriyaki, and she seems pretty content with that. For someone who just threw up on his shower mat, she sure has a healthy appetite.

*** *** ***

They spend the rest of the night watching a movie together. They've done that before, of course, and in a way it comes natural. It doesn't even take all that long until he stops his scowling and lets her join him on the couch, cat hair be damned. And not too long after that he catches her sneaking an inquisitive paw to his thigh.

*** *** ***

She ends up in his lap eventually, and it takes him a while to realize how weirdly domestic this feels. She's curled up comfortably, purring whenever he strokes her. (Which he does in disconcerting frequency.) She yawns at the passages that bore her, just like she usually does, when they're doing this in all-human form. She scares a little easier, though, especially at the sound effects, and Tony soon gets an almost perverse pleasure out of tickling her ears whenever she tilts them back.

It doesn't take all that long until she starts pawing at his fingers, which distracts him from the movie pretty well. Maybe because she's so playful. And, well, cute. (At least now he can say this without censoring his words because he has a damn good excuse.)

"So," he says when she rolls to her back and looks at him all relaxed and expectant. His fingers glide through her fur, and she gives him another rumbling purr. He can't help it then, his loud mouth wins out over decency and common sense, and so he asks her, "Can I still rub your belly when you're a pretty girl again?"

He has to admit that somewhere, deep down in the recesses of his mind, he has always been pretty sure that on one of their movie nights they would end up fooling around with each other on his couch. Sometimes -- whenever he put a little more intent to his musings -- he even imagined coming out of it with a few scratch marks to show off. 

He just never thought that actual claws would be involved.

*** *** ***

It's way past midnight when he has to admit that he can't really sleep. He keeps tossing and turning in his bed, and sometimes he even nods off for a few minutes, but the tiniest sound always jerks him awake again. Like the sound of a cat's paws, tiptoeing around just outside his bedroom.

She's staring at him from the doorstep, and he stares back at her for a few long moments. Her eyes are wide, and for the first time since this all started, she looks like she's about to seriously lose her calm. Her eyes twitch nervously, and her tail whips the carpet. She doesn't come in, though - no kittens in his bedroom, after all. (It scares him a little that this is the time she chooses to obey him.)

He sighs and runs a hand across his face. Rubs his tired eyes. Flips the cover back and motions her to join him.

Ziva darts across the room lightning-fast and almost slams into his chest when she jumps onto the bed. She's curled up and close to him faster than he could say her name, with her face pressed into his shoulder and a tiny sound coming out of her throat that speaks of her anxiety and confusion.

"I know," he says and lowers his arm, wrapping her up in the blanket, and he can't help burying his face into her fur for a moment. It feels like the natural thing to do. "I want my partner back, too."

She tilts her head back and stares at him with wide, shining eyes.

*** *** ***

He feels vaguely disoriented when he wakes. There's bright sunlight streaming in through the window, and he's confused because he's pretty sure he set his alarm before he went to bed.

The thing he's not sure about, though, is why Ziva David, of all people, is spread out all over his bed... and all over him. They don't do this kind of thing, after all. This... sleepover thing. Then his nose tickles, and while he sneezes, she curls up and snuggles a little closer, and her perky little boobs press into his side. 

His eyes flow open when the fact that Ziva is indeed back to being Ziva really sinks in. That she's most definitely no longer a cat... and that her human self needs a lot more covering up than her feral one did.

She turns her head just then and snuggles into him a little more insistently, and he fights down a yelp, along with other involuntary reactions. "You're back," he whimpers and tries to slide away from her. He doesn't have much success, though, because human Ziva -- at least in the morning -- seems to be just as affectionate and clingy as her cat form was. Which is... dangerous, to put it mildly. " _And_ you're naked."

"Mrrrr," she agrees into the curve of his neck, and he's starting to sweat. His pulse picks up speed, and he's embarrassed at how squeaky his voice sounds suddenly.

"Why are you naked?"

Ziva takes her sweet time answering, and that time involves sliding an arm across his chest as if he's the best treat she could have gotten for breakfast. "Tony," she finally says. She sounds like she's talking to an incredibly dense kid who just failed the test for the fifth time. "I was a cat, until very recently. I didn't need clothes."

"Yeah, well, you had fur then!"

Once more he tries to push her off his chest, but she's relentless. She's also highly amused by a Tony who is all stressed out and flustered by her proximity. He can tell when she leans into him even more and slides her very naked thigh against his. Her lips brush his earlobe.

"I have a small patch of fur left," she whispers. "If that helps."

It doesn't. It just brings up more images, and it's dangerous, and tempting, and he's really sweating now. Especially when she twists a tiny bit more and--

"Oh, god." He groans and closes his eyes and prays for control.

Ziva merely grins and gives him her best Cheshire Cat impersonation. (He can literally feel her lips curve against his skin.) Then she continues to stretch all over him while a deep chuckle rumbles in her chest.

*** *** ***

So, what sparked this story was sort of a 'happy accident' -- I browsed through my gargantuan folder of saved pics and found these two, sitting side by side. Coincidence? I think not. :P

ETA: Back when I first told her about that cracky little idea (literally, months ago) my sweet friend Wendy rushed off to draw me this. Looking at it now - yeah, still love it as much as I did then, even though I imagined kitty!Ziva a little darker and with short hair. :)


End file.
